Toddler Penitentiary

I finally made the decision that maybe I should have more than one pair of decent jeans. I am, after all, a grown-up and ripped jeans don't really go with the whole grown-up look. (Although they probably do go with the tired mom look.) So I packed Esmé into the car and we made the trek over to Metrotown to get lost in the gigantic maze of stores.

Esmé sat patiently in her stroller, watching the crowds, being cute for the sales ladies, and making faces into the mirrors. Pretty much just minding her own business. Or so I thought.

Once I had had enough of the mall (which was very quickly because I loath shopping) we made our way toward the car. It wasn't until I had put her in the car seat and started to fold up the stroller that I saw the evidence.

A tank top. Army green. Size medium. Neatly tucked into the seat of the stroller. A shirt I have never seen before.

She's starting young folks, and she knows her stuff. Surveying the clothes, deciding which table is low enough for her to reach and make a quick grab. Choosing an item that won't set off the alarms as we leave the store. Batting her big blue eyes at the sales ladies to solidify her innocence. And tucking the evidence away and out of sight. It all makes sense now.

And then here is where I become the accomplice.

I stand there in the parking lot weighing my options. Our shopping experience has left us both grouchy. Esmé, in addition to being mentally exhausted from carrying out her elaborate burglary, is now hungry and tired and cranky. She's already buckled in to her car seat. I look at the tank top lying there. I think about the store it came from. Where is that damn store anyway? I'd have to wander around that monster of a mall all over again? My morals give way to fatigue. I don't care anymore. We're going home.

When we get home I have a talk with Esmé, "Honey, next time you see a shirt you like and think you want it, why don't you check the tag and make sure it's Mama's size first."

Please don't tell anyone.

The Fourth Plane Trip

Our little globetrotter is becoming very familiar with the word "airplane." We frequently see them passing by our window when we are sitting at our dining room table (we are 5 min. from the airport) and Esmé loves to point them out. She's also experienced her share of plane rides, including our latest adventure, the mother of all plane trips. A 24 hour flight plus a 3 hour drive from Vancouver to Esfahan.

In Iran, New Years Day is on the first day of spring. Norooz, as it's called, is a big holiday and everyone has a couple weeks off work. So this was the perfect time for a visit and to introduce my father to his first grandchild.

(We chose not to bring our camera, so these are either given to us by other people or taken with our iphone.)

The Table of Seven S is a traditional Norooz table setting, similar to decorating a Christmas tree. All of the items on the table begin with the letter S.

With Norooz comes a whole lot of visiting. Every night families go to each other's houses for tea and sweets. Kyle and I usually just sit there as other people come around and offer us the food in a very ritualistic manner. But this night Kyle decided to lend a hand, much to the amusement of everyone in the room.

My siblings.

Much of our time there is always spent eating, but we aren't complaining!

Esmé was a big hit of course. From the moment we arrived she was swept up into the arms of many loving family members. Most of the time I felt like I wasn't even a mother anymore as her grandparents, uncles, aunts, and cousins all jumped in and took over, making sure she was happy, entertained, and well fed. She loved every minute.

Making new friends.

Helping out.

Learning to play the sitar.

We all rented a van and took a 3 hour road trip out to the desert and hiked the sand dunes.

I promise this isn't a backdrop.

It was so windy and cold at first that the sand blew in our faces and stung our eyes.

Someone wrapped Esmé in a scarf to keep the sun off her fair skin. (We forgot to bring a hat or sunscreen... even though we were going out into the desert...) She loved sliding down the sand dunes and feeling the warm sand in her fingers and toes.

Me and my bro.

Esmé's first camel ride.

We are still finding sand in our shoes and pockets.

Near the desert was a traditional restaurant where we stopped to have lunch. It was located in a tiny village in the middle of nowhere but it was amazing.

Esmé loves her tea.

Across the street from this restaurant was a 1,500 year old fortress. It contained the remains of a village with about a hundred different homes set along winding streets. Each home had a domed roof to eliminate the need for beams and to keep the rain and snow off. Most of them were if very good shape, which is surprising considering they are completely unprotected. The government puts no effort into the preservation of such historical landmarks and so this ancient village is littered with garbage and graffiti.

Pigeon manure is a hot commodity and these buildings are a common sight. Pigeons fly in through the small holes and make their nests. Occasionally someone comes and collects all the droppings from the ground.